


Gold/Gold 2

by cybel



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e12 Blind Man's Bluff, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybel/pseuds/cybel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from the episode "Blind Man's Bluff".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold/Gold 2

**Author's Note:**

> These stories were originally posted to SXF, a fiction-only mailing list for The Sentinel. Gold was then archived at 852 Prospect on 2/12/1997, and its sequel, Gold 2, on 3/2/1997. Re-edited and combined in September 2011 prior to archiving here at the AO3.

  
**Gold**   


Jim sat at Blair's bedside, twisting the magazine he couldn't read in hands that wouldn't stay still. The case was over, the perpetrators were behind bars, but there was no closure, no peace for Jim in that fact. Despite seeing a few blurry images during the heat of the chase, he was still blind, and, more importantly, Blair was still unconscious.

That morning Simon had tried to get him to go home and get some rest, but Jim had resisted successfully. Being at home wouldn't help; there was no rest for him there, not without Blair downstairs rustling around, playing his music way too loud, breathing, doing -- being.

At least here, at Blair's bedside, Jim knew his partner was still alive. The soft susurration of his breathing, thankfully no longer supported by a ventilator, the slight rustle of the bedding as his chest rose and fell, the scent of his body, uniquely Blair, comforted Jim and gave him hope.

God, when would he wake up?

But what if he didn't wake up? Golden affected each user differently. What if... No, Jim wouldn't think about the unthinkable. Blair would wake up, and Jim would be there when he did.

"Funny," he said aloud, using the sound of his own voice to help distract himself from his anxiety, "but I never really believed my blindness would be permanent. It was easy to go on as if it was just a minor inconvenience. I had the case to work on and you beside me. I knew you wouldn't let me down, Blair. I didn't even think about it, not once. It was just another problem for us to work through, like one of your Sentinel experiments."

He chuckled softly. "I think you were more worried about it than I was. A couple of times I was afraid you'd pass out, you were hyperventilating so badly. But you came through for me, partner. Just like always. That scam with your laser pointer was priceless. I just wish I could have seen those assholes' faces when you aimed it at them and they thought you had them in your sights."

Jim fell silent, as if waiting for Blair to respond to his praise. When there was no sign that he had heard, Jim went on, more softly, "I've never told you what you've come to mean to me, Chief. Did you ever wonder why I never brought up your leaving the loft after you moved in? Yeah, of course you did. But you never asked, and I never said anything. I should have. It was like I spent my whole life waiting, you know? Waiting for something to happen, for someone to come along and make everything right. You did that. You invaded my space, disrupted my routines, bugged the hell out of me, all of that. But you also reminded me I'm alive. You turned the loft upside down, and suddenly it was a home, not just a place to sleep in. Carolyn never managed that, not in all the time we were married. That must mean something, don't you think?" He closed his eyes then opened them again. Either way the golden haze was still all he could see.

"I was never more afraid in my life," he continued after a moment, "than I was in that garage. Not for myself. For you. All I could think about was how I tried to talk Lisa down off that bridge, and how that ended with her dead. I can still see her face. I guess I always will. If that had happened to you, I don't know what I would have done." His voice dropped to a whisper, and the forgotten magazine fell from his suddenly lax hands. "If you don't wake up, Blair, I don't know what I'll do."

Suddenly words weren't nearly enough. Carefully, so as not to disturb the IV tubing feeding life into Blair's veins, Jim reached out and traced a limp, unresponsive arm until he found the hand lying palm upward on the sheet. Twining his own around it, Jim settled back again to wait.  

\--

A harsh, irregular breath snapped Jim out of dreams of golden flames enveloping a screaming, flailing, too familiar form. Still lost in the horror of that vision, it took him a moment to realize the hand he was still holding was now clasped tightly around his own. He turned toward the bed and tried to speak but found he couldn't get anything out around the tightness constricting his throat. Instead, he just held on to Blair's hand, absorbing its living warmth, its conscious, purposeful movements.

A moment later, a second hand closed over his. "Hey," a scratchy, hoarse voice whispered. It was the most beautiful sound Jim had ever heard. "Are you okay, Jim?"

Jim just smiled. The golden haze in front of his eyes seemed to take on a strange, watery, prickly quality all of a sudden. Clearing his throat, he said, "Don't step on my lines, Chief. I should be asking you that."

"You still can't see, can you?"

Jim could hear the sorrow and pain that thought brought his friend. "Not true, Blair," he answered. "I think I'm seeing clearly for the first time in my life." Jim could almost see Blair's puzzled frown, and he shook his head. "No," he clarified. "Not with my eyes. Not yet," he emphasized. "I mean in here," he patted his own chest, over his heart, "where it matters."

"I don't understand."

Jim's smile broadened. "Just you let me get you home," he said, "and you will."

And that, he swore silently, was a promise that was as good as gold.

 

  
**Gold 2**   


Blair had only been home from the hospital for a couple of hours, and already Jim's resolve to tell him he loved him had started to waver. It wasn't that he was having second thoughts about wanting to tell Blair, and he certainly wanted his Guide physically, but Jim was afraid, pure and simple. All of his other senses might still be enhanced, but without sight, without being able to see that mobile, expressive face...

And to make matters worse, Blair, who had been close to death so recently, was already back in mother hen mode. Ignoring his own close call, he was again totally focused on Jim and his continuing blindness. It was difficult to set the mood for a declaration of undying love when the object of your affections was treating you like a porcelain vase. It was even more difficult when, having come so close to losing his unacknowledged love, Jim found he actually did feel almost that fragile.

Then again, it was wonderful to be looked after -- well, to relax and allow himself to enjoy being looked after -- for a change. After all, if Jim was Blair's blessed protector, the reverse was also true. Blair had saved his life, at no small risk to his own, within hours of their first meeting and on numerous occasions since then. Saved Jim's sanity, too. He had a right to fuss a bit.

Jim knew his usual resistance to Blair's nurturing was a ruse to protect his male pride, of course. At the moment he didn't have the energy to play that game. Furthermore, he didn't want to. He was tired and scared and relieved and in love, and pride just didn't enter into it. If Blair wanted to take charge, that was fine with Jim. As long as Blair was here, safe in their own home, anything would be fine.

"Jim?" Blair's voice called from the living room.

"Yeah?" Jim answered from the balcony, turning his back on the magnificent view he could only see in his mind's eye.

"Don't you think you should come inside? It's getting cold." Blair's voice was closer now, and waves of body heat touched Jim's chilled face and hands like a gentle caress. He smiled.

Not true, Chief, he thought, surprising himself with his own sentimentality. When you're near me, it's never cold. You warm me clear through to my soul.

A hand grasped his wrist and tugged gently but insistently. "Come on, Jim. You'll catch your death."

Jim followed the lure of that voice, of that touch. Being blind wasn't so bad, he thought. It was a great excuse for letting Blair touch him.

"Sit down," Blair said, wrapping Jim's fingers around the back of a chair to orient him to its location. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Great." Jim sat, not bothering to check that everything on the table was positioned where it should be; Blair had been meticulous about such things ever since Jim had been blinded. In fact, Jim would lay odds that there wasn't so much as a piece of lint out of place in the entire loft. He smiled fondly at the thought of his Oscar Madison housemate turning into Felix Unger right before his eyes. Right before his eyes...

"Jim?" The veiled note of worry in Blair's voice pulled him out of his reverie.

"What?" he asked, instinctively starting to rise. "What's wrong?" A hand on his shoulder stopped his precipitous movement before he could knock over his chair or something more breakable.

"Nothing, nothing," Blair hurried to reassure him. "Sorry, man. I didn't mean to scare you like that. It's just, you looked like you were zoning out, and --"

"And you went into Guide mode," Jim finished for him. He shook his head in mock reproach. "What am I going to do with you, Chief?" he asked.

"Well excuuuuse me." Jim could hear the grin in his voice. "So, if you weren't zoning out, what was going on just now?"

Jim shrugged. "I was thinking," he said.

"About?"

"Me. You." He took a deep breath. "Us."

"Yeah?" Blair was spooning dinner onto Jim's plate now -- pasta primavera from the odor -- while they talked. "What about us?" He move away, and Jim heard him dishing up his own plateful then sitting down to eat.

"I was just thinking how nice it's been having you here to take care of me since..." he waved a hand in front of his eyes by way of explanation.

"Where else would I have been?" Blair asked, sounding puzzled.

Long gone, if you'd had any sense, Jim thought. Then you wouldn't have ended up drugged out of your mind, comatose, almost dying because of me.

Again Blair's hand closed over his wrist, this time to comfort, not to guide. "Hey," Blair said. "I'm here because I want to be. My decision, Jim. Mine. What happened wasn't your fault, man."

"Funny," Jim muttered, "it sure feels like it was my fault. If I hadn't been so careless with the Golden in the first place you --"

"Hold it right there," Blair interrupted. "I've been thinking about what happened that night, and I don't think that was your fault either." Jim snorted disbelievingly. "No, really, Jim. I mean, you're a Sentinel, right?" Jim nodded, wondering where Blair was going with this. "Well, what if you were extra sensitive to the Golden, the same way you were to that cold medicine that time on the train? What if there were traces of Golden on the outside of the packet you were holding? It might have affected you right away; maybe you even absorbed some of it through your skin. Maybe that's why you were so careless with it."

"What do you mean?" Jim asked. It was hard to concentrate with Blair's hand still holding on to his wrist from across the table, gripping hard to force him to listen, to believe what he was saying. Jim stared sightlessly down at that hand, feeling the resonance of Blair's voice through that contact point.

"Don't you see -- oh, sorry, man -- don't you get it? You were already stoned when you started flicking that packet, already stoned when you rubbed your hand across your face! It. Wasn't. Your. Fault. None of it was your fault."

Jim knew what Blair must look like just then, his face flushed with intensity, willing Jim to believe him, to accept his argument, to accept his absolution. He closed his eyes, but the image of Blair remained behind them, more real than anything his eyes had ever shown him. His free hand, which had been clenching and unclenching at his side, came up of its own accord to cover Blair's.

"I love you," he said in a rush. It felt good to finally admit it, so he said it again, more slowly, "I love you."

The hand in his went slack, and he heard a quick whoosh of breath, as if someone had hit Blair in the gut. Jim immediately pulled his hands back and let them drop, fisted, into his lap. He felt the blood rising into his face, heard it rushing in his ears, but he couldn't see -- DAMN IT! - he couldn't see what effect his words had had on Blair. He took a deep, steadying breath to calm his fractured nerves and said, not as calmly as he might have wished, "Hey, I'm in the dark here, Chief. Put me out of my misery one way or the other."

He didn't have long to wait. He heard Blair's chair scrape back, but before Jim could panic warm hands closed on his face, turning it to the side and tilting it upward, and an even warmer mouth closed on his own, trembling, encouraging Jim to open with a groan and a sigh of greeting. A tongue, slightly rough to the touch and wild with need, invaded him, taking his breath away as it explored his teeth, his gums, circling his mouth with wet fire, eliciting another groan and another rush of blood, this time away from Jim's head, straight to his groin.

Jim stumbled to his feet, hearing the chair go over with a crash but not caring, and turned to gather Blair into his arms without ever breaking the kiss. Finally he was holding his love properly, and Blair was safe and whole and here and wanted him.

He finally broke the kiss, struggling for air, only then realizing he had forgotten to breathe once the kiss had captured him. He half laughed, half moaned as Blair grabbed hold of his ears and pulled on them to force his head back down. "Whoa, Chief," he managed between convulsive gasps, "Try to... leave those where they are. I'm blind, you know... I might be needing them."

"Shut up," Blair growled, "and get back down here." His own breathing was none too steady, Jim noticed with satisfaction.

"I've got a better idea," Jim murmured, evading Blair's frantic mouth and pressing his face into Blair's hair, rimming his ear wetly then engulfing the lobe, tugging at the two small rings there with gently torturing teeth.

Blair groaned and grabbed handfuls of Jim's shirt, leaning into him as if his knees were giving way. "Anything," he said. "Anything. Just NOW, okay?"

"Ah, the impatience of youth." Jim shook his head sadly then blew into Blair's ear and whispered, "Bed."

"Oh yeah, man," Blair answered when he had stopped shivering. "Oh yeah." He let loose of his death grip on Jim's shirt and grabbed his hand instead, tugging to get him moving, but Jim set his feet and refused to budge.

"What?" Blair asked, still impatient and starting to sound defensive as well.

"My bed, lover," Jim clarified. "Not yours."

"Mine's closer." Another tug, continued resistance.

"Mine's bigger." Blair exploded in laughter, and Jim blushed hotly. "You know what I mean."

Blair stopped laughing, hiccuped, threw his arms around Jim's waist in a quick hug, twined their fingers together again and pulled. "Sure, fine, whatever. Just -- let's GO, Jim!"

They went. The stairs were a bit of a hassle. Jim, despite being unable to see where they were going, had to do most of the navigating since Blair was just too busy elsewhere. By the time they started climbing, he was attached to Jim's side like a limpet, his one free hand unbuttoning Jim's shirt, stroking the flesh his efforts revealed.

Jim was overwhelmed and moved by Blair's frenzy of desire. He was like a drowning man who had been thrown a life preserver. How long had this been building, he wondered? How long had Blair loved him?

Coherent thought became impossible as they reached the landing and Blair finally let go of his hand to work the opened shirt down off his shoulders. He kissed across Jim's collarbones as he homed in on the zip of his jeans, talented fingers leaving trails of fire across abdomen and hips as they pushed jeans and briefs over firm buttocks and straining cock, eliciting a hiss of mindless arousal from Jim as gravity took over to puddle the clothing at his feet.

Blair's hands moved to his biceps, biting into the hard muscles there, and pushed. "Sit down," he said, his voice smoky and harsh, as if each word took an effort of will to get out.

Jim nodded. "Yes," he said and allowed those marvelous hands to guide him down to the bed. He hissed again, lying back and digging his fingers helplessly into the sheets as soft strands of hair tickled across his crotch. He felt Blair's breath on his calves and lifted his legs so Blair could remove his shoes and untangle his feet from the encumbering pants. As the second shoe fell, Blair began to trail kisses down Jim's legs, moving backward so he could lift a foot to nip gently at the instep before sucking the big toe into his mouth.

Jim was breathing as though he had run a marathon. "Christ, Chief," he moaned, "you're killing me. Take pity on an old man, will you, and get up here where I can get at you!"

A low rumble of laughter answered his plea, and the torturing mouth and hands disappeared, not at all what Jim had had in mind. He tensed, wondering if he would be able to find his sadistic lover if Blair decided to play hard to get, but then he heard the rustle of clothes being hurriedly discarded, and he let out a sigh of relief. Blair hadn't deserted him; he was just undressing. That Jim could live with.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, every fiber of his being focused on forcing sight into his stubbornly unresponsive eyes. Concentrating had worked to a certain extent during the drug bust, dammit! Why not now? He wanted to see Blair undressing for him for the first time almost as much as he wanted to make love to him. Dammit, why couldn't he see!

"Jim! Jim, don't you dare zone out on me now, man!"

Jim lay with his eyes shut and the heels of both hands pressed into them, trying to keep from hyperventilating. "I'm all right, Chief," he said tightly, feeling his own frown, feeling the muscle in his jaw twitching as it always did when he was under emotional strain, knowing that Blair would know he was lying.

"What's going on? It's your eyes, isn't it? Do they hurt? Let me see." Determined fingers wrapped around Jim's wrists and tried unsuccessfully to pull his hands away from his face.

"No, don't! I'm all right. Just give me a minute."

"Okay. Okay. Just relax. Breathe deeply, slowly. Everything's going to be okay." Jim listened to Blair's dark chocolate voice and did as he said. He felt his breathing even out, his jaw relax, and he finally let Blair's gentle insistence pry his hands away from his eyes, though he still wouldn't open them.

Jim let out a shuddering sigh, mixed with a shaky little laugh. "Sorry, Chief," he said. "I didn't mean to --"

"Shhh, it's all right, Jim. Tell me what happened." Blair's voice continued to soothe him while his hands stroked and petted Jim's forehead and cheeks, easing the frown lines from his brow and stroking gently across his eyelids, touch lingering there like a benediction. Jim reached up and gathered Blair's hands in his own, bringing them to his lips and kissing the fingertips before moving them down to his chest, cupping them over his heart.

"Remember how you told me to concentrate on seeing, to try to make my sight come back?" Jim asked. He felt Blair nod. "Well," he continued, "I tried that during the bust at Bio-Helix, and it worked a little. I guess the heat of the chase... Anyway, after that, I couldn't see anything but that damn golden haze again. I tried over and over, but it never worked."

"You've got to give yourself time," Blair began.

"No!" Jim interrupted. "You don't understand. Just now, I tried again. We were... You were..." His hands tightened convulsively on Blair's. "I wanted to see you," Jim admitted plaintively. "More than I ever wanted anything in my life, I wanted to see you."

Jim could feel Blair's compassion, his sorrow, his love flowing off him in waves. "Ah, Jim, don't. It'll happen, man, I know it will happen."

"You don't understand," Jim repeated. Then, in a softer voice, "It did happen."

Blair went suddenly still above him. "What?" he whispered.

"It was like a shutter opened, and there you were, standing in a golden haze. You were naked and aroused and so beautiful. So beautiful."

"You saw me?" Jim nodded. "You saw me?" Blair's joy and excitement were contagious; Jim grinned, feeling the tight coil in his gut start to unwind. He nodded again.

"But that's... that's..." Blair's voice drifted off into confusion. "But, that's great, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Chief," he agreed, "that's great."

"Then why...?" A pause. "Jim, open your eyes."

Jim let out a breath and admitted quietly, "I'm afraid. It's like the deep water, only worse. What if I only thought I saw you?"

"Jim, open your eyes." It was the Sentinel's Guide speaking now, brooking no argument.

Jim scrunched his eyes closed tighter than ever for a moment then slowly opened them. He blinked once, twice, then focused on the face leaning over his. As Jim's tension started to ease, he could feel Blair's building.

"What do you see?" Blair asked anxiously.

Jim answered softly, "A golden haze," he reached unerringly to brush an errant lock of hair back behind Blair's ear, "framing the most beautiful face I've ever seen," he finished.

Blair's lips quivered and tears filled his eyes, then he smiled like the sun rising over the ocean and said, for the first time, "I love you, Jim."

Jim's own smile turned wicked, and he murmured, as he dragged Blair down on top of him to finish what they had started, "What's not to love?"  

THE END


End file.
